


Daze

by LilyThistle



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25711624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyThistle/pseuds/LilyThistle
Summary: He didn’t hesitate; he was at her side immediately, his arms around her, and she slumped into him, half-lying on his chest, and she cried, not a few tears like before – it was unrestrained grief and desperation this time. He had seen this countless times before, back during his old life, when he hadn’t been there to comfort people but to profit from their despair. This was different. This was Lisbon. And he would do anything he could to make this go away.
Relationships: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon
Comments: 17
Kudos: 115





	Daze

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason, writing has been really hard for me these last couple of weeks, but I miss it so much ... anyway, I'm trying to get back into it. This fic came to me after watching "Red Badge" because I'm CONVINCED there's more that happened in the episode than they showed us. There is no other explanation for how Jane looks at Lisbon in the final scene.

“I can’t remember.” Lisbon sounded surprised, as if she didn’t believe it. As if she didn’t want to believe it.

Jane looked into her wide eyes that searched his for answers. “That’s a little weird,” he admitted and sighed thoughtfully. She should be able to remember the night in question even if her mind had put up walls to spare her the pain.

“I thought you were the best.” Lisbon pushed herself out of the armchair and walked past Jane, so he was forced to turn around if he wanted to keep her in his line of sight. “I want my money back.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but it sounded forced. Her voice was husky, she was in immense pain, but she tried to push it down. She didn’t want Jane to see, and he couldn’t blame her for being on guard around him, but he also wished she wouldn’t be. He wished she would let him help her. Not by hypnotizing her again because that was a dead end, but by comforting her, by distracting her, by trying to find another way to get to the root of this problem. He couldn’t stand seeing her like this.

“Hm,” he made. And, “Yeah.”

She looked at him, let a few seconds go by, then asked, “Why can’t I remember?”

He didn’t have an answer for her, not yet, anyway. He stood up too. “It’s interesting, isn’t it?” His voice was casual, as if he was talking to the relative of a victim who had pointed out something fascinating about the case. He knew he couldn’t let her see how disturbed he was by her inability to remember.

“Yeah,” she agreed. She walked away from Jane, put distance between them, until she reached a shelf. She didn’t exactly touch it, but she leaned toward it for support “Yeah, it’s interesting,” she repeated, but her voice was anything but casual.

“Mmh,” he made.

She turned away from him and looked at the floor, her body small and fragile. She wasn’t wearing her usual shirt and jacket, but a grey T-shirt with short sleeves. It made her look even more lost. Then she said in a voice that was unnaturally high, “Well, you know, thanks – thanks for trying. You probably have somewhere you need to go, right?”

He hated himself for not having been of more use. It had been his idea; he had convinced Lisbon he would be able to uncover her repressed memories. But he had failed. She was even more hurt and upset and worried than she had been when they had started.

“Well, I’m not gonna give up that easily,” he told her. He bit his bottom lip thoughtfully, trying to figure out what the issue might be.

Her voice pulled him back. “I can count on you not to tell anybody about this, right?” His eyes snapped to her face and he could see a tear roll down her cheek. Then a small sob escaped her. “On the team?” she added, then looked away to hide her face.

He couldn’t believe this was what worried her. What other people thought of her shouldn’t even be on her list of concerns right now.

“Oh, Lisbon.” He closed the distance between them and put his left hand on her right shoulder. “Hey.” He made an effort to keep his voice soft, but he felt rage emerging from the pit of his stomach, rage directed at the people who had done this to her.

“Jane.” She raised her right hand, so he pulled back his. “I just need you to leave.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “Oh, okay,” he mumbled.

“Could you please … go?” she added for emphasis.

He lowered his gaze and nodded, once. “It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be fine, all right?” He looked back at her, at her fragile form, so close to him and yet so far away, hidden behind countless walls. The small tears that were rolling down her cheeks were a sign of how desperate she was. He had no idea how to make it go away.

She looked at him then, finally.

“I promise,” he added. Then he started walking toward the door because it was what she wanted. “Okay?” he asked her, not stopping.

“Mmh,” she made, followed by a sniffing sound.

He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “If you want me to leave, I’ll respect that,” he said slowly. Then he looked back at her, her hands buried in the pockets of her trousers, looking so small he couldn’t believe this was the same woman who frequently threw herself in the way of men twice her size and came out on top. He had never seen her like that, and it hurt him. He needed to get to the bottom of this. He needed to protect her. “But I think we should try again.” It was the only thing he could think of saying to her, even though he knew it was no use.

“No.” Her voice was husky but determined. “I’ve had enough of letting you in for one day.”

“Okay,” he said carefully. “I’m going to leave then, okay?” He didn’t want to, but he didn’t want to tell her that. If she wanted him to stay, she needed to be the one to ask him to.

She nodded. “Yeah.” Then she turned away to wipe a tear off her cheek, hiding the motion from Jane, but he noticed, of course he did.

He decided not to comment on it. Instead, he began to turn the doorknob slowly, giving her a chance to call him back if she wanted to. She didn’t. So he stopped before the door was open, facing the dark wood in front of him, listening for her ragged breathing.

“If you want me to stay, I’ll stay,” he said without turning around.

A sharp intake of breath. “No, I’ll manage.”

Why did she have to be this stubborn? He took a deep breath, too, to control his heart rate, to push down the anger that kept flaring up. “You don’t have to _manage_. We can find a solution for this. There has to be one.”

“Jane, _please_.” She sounded so broken it made him feel sick. “Just go.”

He let go of the doorknob and turned around to face her. She stood where he had left her, next to the shelf, her arms slung around herself, her hair falling over her cheeks to hide the tears – she had changed her hair recently and it suited her, he hadn’t told her that yet, he needed to pay her a compliment when she wasn’t hurting like this.

“No.” He had decided. “I’m staying.” It was no use waiting for her to come to the decision he wanted her to come to. If he left now, they would both regret it. “You’re in distress, you shouldn’t be alone.”

She groaned and threw her arms up in frustration. “I’m fine, Jane. Just go.”

He started walking back toward her but stopped when she took a couple of steps back to get away from him. “I’m not leaving you. This is not up for discussion.”

“Do you need me to order you?” Lisbon asked, glaring at him. He was relieved to see some of that fire he loved so much flaring up in her eyes.

“You cannot order me, you’re on suspension,” he reminded her. “And even if you weren’t, I wouldn’t listen to you.”

“Jane.” It sounded like a warning.

But he ignored it and in four more steps he was next to her, his hand wrapped around her lower arm, pulling her toward the couch.

“Sit,” he ordered.

She was so dumbstruck she did as she was told.

“I’m going to make you a cup of tea,” he told her. “I’ll be in the kitchen. If you need anything, just shout.”

Lisbon nodded, staring at him. He had never talked to her like this, had never taken charge like this, but he knew desperate times called for desperate measures. Lisbon’s eyes were glued to his back as he walked to the kitchen and started going through her drawers looking for tea. It was harder than he had anticipated, but finally he found an old pack of chamomile tea and decided it was better than nothing. While he waited for the water to boil, he threw furtive glances at the couch where Lisbon was still sitting, but instead of staring at him, her gaze was lowered to the floor.

He allowed himself to let his eyes wander across her resting form for a moment, contemplating how someone as determined and righteous as her could crack like this. He had never seen her cry, hadn’t even suspected her to be able to let go of herself like this. She was always composed, except for an instance a few weeks ago, when she had called him selfish and childish. She hadn’t cracked then, but she had come close. She had also told him there were people who cared about him and who needed him, and it had taken him until now to figure out she had been talking about herself. They hadn’t spoken about their fight since then, not after he had shot Sheriff Hardy to save her. She had forgiven him without him needing to apologize and he had come to forgive himself for killing the only man who could have led him to Red John. He still wasn’t sure he would choose his own life if it meant ending Red John’s, but he sure as hell would choose Lisbon’s any day.

After the water had boiled, he filled two cups and let the tea steep for a while, his thoughts as fleeting as the hot steam rising from the cups. Like smoke in a breeze, they whisked here and there, flitting between Lisbon and the case, Red John and his own shortcomings. He didn’t hold on to any of the thoughts, just watched them come and go as they pleased until the tea was done. Then he dumped the bags into the trash and walked back to the living room to join Lisbon on the couch. Earlier, she had sat in the armchair, and he on a footrest in front of it. Now they were side by side, both a cup of tea in their hands to give them something to hold on to, while Jane waited for Lisbon to talk, and Lisbon tried to gather up the courage to say what she was thinking.

“Jane,” she started, and he could see her skin glistening with perspiration. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” he said, “but I’m doing it.”

She sighed and put down her cup. She was calmer now, more composed, and she leaned back until her head rested against the wall and she could stare up at the ceiling. He watched her, watched every little muscle in her face twitch as she tried to settle on an expression. Her eyes were red, and she looked exhausted, depleted. The feeling of protectiveness he suddenly had for her was foreign and new and he needed to inspect it closer when he had the time because she was a person who didn’t need protection, so there was no reason for him to feel this way.

And yet …

“My dad,” Lisbon started again, “he used to have blackouts like this. He would drink and then he couldn’t remember what he had done.”

“You’re not your dad,” Jane reminded her. He knew this was a sensitive subject for her, one she hated talking about. He wanted to touch her reassuringly, wanted to hold her, but he couldn’t make a move without her figuring out what he was trying to do, and he knew she wouldn’t let him come close. She had pushed his hand away earlier after all. So he tried to make her feel better with words. “You didn’t have a blackout. I’m certain of it.”

She bit her bottom lip, which was trembling. “But what if I did? What if I killed McTeer and I can’t remember?” She moved her head, so she was looking at him. “Jane, I’m terrified.”

He felt a sharp pain in his chest and rolled his left shoulder to get rid of it. It didn’t work. He admired her so much, her bravery, her resilience, her goodness, but he couldn’t tell her that now because he knew she wouldn’t believe him. He wouldn’t believe her either if their positions were reversed.

He finally touched her, a hand on her shoulder. “Lisbon, listen to me. You didn’t kill him. I’m sure.”

Lisbon scoffed and he expected her to push his hand away again, but instead she moved closer to him until her knee was pressed against his thigh. He didn’t know how to react, but he could tell she needed physical contact, so he put his arm around her shoulders, hoping it was what she needed.

“How can you be so sure?” she asked then, her voice small. “I’m not even sure myself.”

He shrugged. “It’s a feeling.” He squeezed her shoulder. “But I’ve never been surer of anything.”

This made her move away from him and he lamented the loss of contact but didn’t complain. This was about her needs, not his.

“You think I’m a good person, but I’m not,” she said. “You think I don’t have it in me.” Her voice broke as she shook her head. “I’m not a good person. And I know I could kill a man, under the right circumstances.”

“It’s not that,” he said slowly. “Yes, I do think you’re good and righteous, but I also think you have it in you to bend the rules a little. I just think –”

She pushed herself off the couch and started pacing around her living room, suddenly angry, fuming, her face red with rage. “Bend the rules a little?” she repeated. “Is that what this is to you? A man is dead! He was a horrible man, but _I_ might have killed him. I don’t want –” She broke down in the middle of the living room floor, her hands pressed to her eyes, and he could hear her sob, fight for air, and he knew she would be screaming her lungs out if he hadn’t been there with her.

He didn’t hesitate; he was at her side immediately, his arms around her, and she slumped into him, half-lying on his chest, and she cried, not a few tears like before – it was unrestrained grief and desperation this time. He had seen this countless times before, back during his old life, when he hadn’t been there to comfort people but to profit from their despair. This was different. This was Lisbon. And he would do anything he could to make this go away.

He held her for long minutes while she cried, soaking his shirt, and he felt helpless at first because this was so new; this wasn’t Lisbon, his boss, his colleague, she would never let him see her like this. But then he remembered how much they had already been through, and he realized this was just another case they could solve.

“You were drugged,” he whispered once her breathing had calmed down.

“What?” she asked, her voice husky and raw from crying.

“You can’t remember because you were drugged. It’s the only explanation why you couldn’t remember anything when I hypnotized you,” he explained.

She moved, sat up straight, and stared at him. “Drugged? Why? How?”

“Your psychiatrist, Dr. Carmen,” he answered. “I’m not exactly sure yet why he did it, but I will figure it out.”

She shook her head. “No.” Her cheeks were red, her eyes were swollen, her hair was sticking to her skin. She looked exhausted, and he wished, for the first time in the years since he had met her, that there was something he could do to make her feel better, something only _he_ could do. This was new; he hadn’t felt like this in a long time, and he knew this was neither the time nor the place to feel anything apart from protectiveness for Lisbon and anger at Dr. Carmen. Yet here he was, thinking thoughts he should keep locked out of his mind, for Lisbon’s sake.

Lisbon was suddenly calm, determined; there was a light in her eyes. “Let’s get him,” she said, and he realized he wasn’t the only one who was coming to terms with his changing feelings for his colleague. She, too, understood something now: She understood she could trust him, and he would be there for her, no matter what. She had never trusted him before, not like this, not so readily, not without a discussion about his skills and methods.

He helped her get up from her living room floor and guided her to the armchair she had sat in while he had hypnotized her. She sat down and leaned forward, her elbows propped up on her legs, while he sat down opposite her, like before. But she wasn’t scared and helpless anymore, she was in charge now; she knew they needed to find a way to arrest Dr. Carmen and get to the bottom of this. And she was dangerous – she would never forgive the psychiatrist for what he had done to her, and neither would Jane.

“So, what do we do?” she asked, staring at Jane intently. She wanted him to come up with a plan, she didn’t want to do this by the book, she wanted his tricks.

And he told her his plan, told her about how she needed to fake a breakdown and how that would lure Dr. Carmen to her place. This way they would be able to get a confession out of him, he was sure of that, but he only agreed to let her face the psychiatrist on her own provided she allowed him to hide and watch out for her. Reluctantly, she agreed.

Things were different now, they could both feel it, but neither of them dared to comment on it. Lisbon only thanked him, quietly mumbling, “Thank you for staying with me and helping me figure this out.”

Jane stood, knowing he had overstayed his welcome. Still, he didn’t want to leave, not yet anyway. If he stayed, though, there was no telling what he might do. “I’m here for you,” he told her. “Anytime. If you need my help, just ask.”

She stood too and they lingered for a moment until she decided to lead the way to her front door. Jane followed.

“I appreciate that,” she said, a hand on the doorknob.

For some reason he overlooked her hand and raised his own to open the door, his fingers brushing her knuckles. She flinched and pulled back, but he mirrored her, and they stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do next.

“Jane, I’m sorry,” she said suddenly. “I’m sorry for keeping you here and for putting this on you and for being so damn blind.”

He could see more tears glistening in her eyes and he wouldn’t let her cry again, at least not today. “Hey,” he said, like he had done before. But instead of petting her shoulder, he pulled her into a tight hug, and she slung her arms around his back and pressed her face into his chest. “You don’t need to apologize. You … of course I stayed with you. You’re my friend.”

The sound he heard her make was somewhere between a sob and a chuckle. “I just never thought I would need your help,” she mumbled. “I don’t –”

“I know,” he interrupted her. “You don’t like to ask for help.” It was the first thing he had noticed about her, and one of the first things that had intrigued him.

Lisbon broke the embrace first and took a step back. She was smiling softly now, and he smiled too. It really would be all right, like he had told her. They had a plan and they would catch the bad guy, like they always did.

Only, it wasn’t like always at all.

Because in the fraction of a second, Lisbon had closed the distance between them again and her lips were on Jane’s. She pressed her body against his, deepening the kiss, hungry, demanding, and Jane pulled her close and kissed her back, knowing he shouldn’t, knowing he wasn’t supposed to take advantage of her like this. She was vulnerable, susceptible, confused, hurt, exhausted, open, raw, and none of these were a good basis for what they were doing. But he couldn’t stop himself, even if he knew he would walk out of here regretting it, and she would regret it too and never speak of it again. He couldn’t stop himself when she pushed him against the door and he felt his heart fight against the restraints of his rib cage, felt his breath being knocked out of him, felt her hands in his hair. He couldn’t stop himself when her teeth were nipping his bottom lip, the skin on his neck, his earlobe. He couldn’t stop himself when he pulled her closer, when he bent down to cover her neck in kisses, when he shivered at hearing a moan escape her lips.

But it was over as soon as it had started. Lisbon stepped back again, a flush on her cheeks, and he knew in that moment she would never, ever mention this again. He couldn’t tell why she had kissed him, what she had hoped to gain from this, but he knew she had gotten what she wanted, and he was happy to have been of use, even if he could tell the dull, throbbing pain in his chest that came with longing wouldn’t leave him for quite some time.

“Do you maybe want to stay for dinner?” she asked, her right hand wrapped around her left elbow. She looked young doing that, so young. “Nothing fancy, just takeout,” she added.

“Sure,” he agreed. “Do you want me to get some?”

“That would be nice,” she said. “I’ll wait here, all right?”

She looked relieved, and he knew why. But he could never be angry with her, not for something as simple as kissing him when she was at her most vulnerable.

“Anything in particular you’re craving?” he asked.

“Surprise me,” she said, a soft smile on her face.


End file.
